


But Didst Thou Perish?

by JRC



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Biting, Butt Slapping, Elezen are dhalmels and I am not sorry, F/M, Female Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Frustrated Sex, Ironworks sex toys, Minor 5.0 spoilers, Miqo'te Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Named Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Pegging, Table Sex, Urianger is a little shit, Urianger says "fuck", i'm a healer main let me live, listen sometimes you just get frustrated at your healers okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:21:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26991310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JRC/pseuds/JRC
Summary: When one summoner becomes a little too frustrated at having to cast Resurrection instead of the astrologian doing his own damn job... Tensions can get a little high. Libidos, as always, are higher. Named!F!WoL x Urianger. Shadowbringers/5.0 spoilers if you squint.
Relationships: Urianger Augurelt/Warrior of Light
Comments: 3
Kudos: 41





	But Didst Thou Perish?

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings just in case anybody didn't read the tags: Frustrated sex, pegging, light BDSM elements, slapping (on the booty), abuse of a table

The table beneath them shook with each furious snap of her hips, and L’lo panted like a dog as she pounded into the body beneath her, sweat dripping liberally down her face to spatter onto her partner’s bare chest with each thrust. “Swiftcast… not… ready… my…  _ ass _ ,” the miqo’te growled, leaning in to sink her teeth into her partner’s shoulder, almost hard enough to draw blood. She clung there, teeth marking the delicate flesh, as she continued to buck her hips with wild abandon, drawing punched-out little gasps and groans from her partner that only served to fuel her frustration. Damned healer was enjoying this far too much...

“But… didst thou perish?” Urianger rasped out, blunt fingernails digging into the scarred plane of her back, the elezen simply hanging on for the ride as his lover stabbed into him again and again with the augmented Ironworks strap-on he had grown so  _ very _ fond of since gifting it to her back in Mor Dhona.

“But did I-?” L’lo choked out, another feral growl ripping from her throat as her mind registered Urianger’s words. “You fucking little-” she snarled, shoving the elezen’s chest flat on the table and using her hand there as leverage to help her slide free of his clenching walls (drawing a piteous groan from the astrologian -  _ good _ , she thought, a smug little smirk curling her lips) and back onto the floor.

The table (Urianger’s table) was obnoxiously high for a miqo’te of her height, and L’lo planted her hands on her hips as she watched the elezen’s chest rise and fall where he lay splayed out on the table, body glistening with sweat in the flickering candlelight and flushed a satisfying shade of pink. He lifted his head to look at her, and L’lo scowled down at him, lifting a hand to snap her fingers. “Up,” she ordered, crossing her arms beneath her breasts as she waited for Urianger to rise, on shaky legs, and stand before her. A shiver rolled down her spine at his response, a breathy little  _ yes, mistress _ .

When he was standing there, perfectly still save for a muscle in his neck, twitching with impatience or excitement, L’lo leaned in and licked a stripe up his chest, starting at his navel and finishing as high as she could reach, just below a nipple. Urianger shivered beneath her, perhaps growing uncomfortably cold, bared to the room as he was, and without her blessedly draped over him. The miqo’te reached around his hips and pinched one trim cheek between her nails, not precisely talons, but not dull either, relishing in the way he started at the unexpected pain. 

With her free hand, she gripped Urianger’s hipbone hard enough to whiten the skin there, if not leave a bruise, and spun him around, then used both hands to shove his chest back down onto the table. He landed with a winded little exclamation of surprise, and L’lo chuckled, her voice thick with dark promise, before stepping forward until her member pressed up against the elezen’s cheeks. 

“You’d better hang on tight,” the miqo’te warned, already reaching for the phial of scented oil she had used mere minutes earlier to prepare Urianger for his impending debauching. “And bend your stupid long legs, you dhalmel,” she growled, nudging the elezen’s knees to get them to bend, drawing a breathless chuckle from her lover as she poured a liberal amount of oil onto her fingers, then began working them back into his entrance, twisting and stretching just this shade of fast and hard enough that one could not call her ministrations gentle.

When he felt sufficiently slick and open, L’lo withdrew her fingers (drawing another mournful whine from her lover) and slicked up the shaft of the Ironworks rod, dragging the nails of her free hand down his back, causing Urianger to gasp and arch his back beneath her touch. She smirked, relishing in the elezen’s reactions, which were always delicious to her just because of his apparent heightened sensitivity compared to her other lovers. L’lo draped herself over Urianger’s back to guide his hands up to the opposite edge of the table, where she folded them, so he could hang on when his legs inevitably went out from beneath him. If she teased his entrance with the tip of the Ironworks member while doing so, then… all the better.

Urianger whined when L’lo released his hands, then stood at his back and… did nothing. “Mine kitten, please…” he choked out, rolling his hips back against hers in a desperate bid for friction, only to find her hands, petite as they were, holding him still with a grip like iron. “I beseech thee…”

L’lo clicked her tongue disapprovingly, rubbing her member teasingly along Urianger’s entrance, but not moving any further, despite the way the elezen’s hips rocked urgently back into her hands. “Have we learned our lesson, Urianger?” she asked, leaning down and letting her breath ghost over the still-drying droplets of sweat dappling the elezen’s expansive back, his body trembling with a shiver at the cold. “I am the…?” The miqo’te trailed off, pressing her lips against a dip in her lover’s spine, and laving her tongue against the muscle twitching beneath the skin.

“T-Thou art the summoner,” Urianger gasped, his back arching at the feeling of her tongue pressed against his spine, legs spreading wider in invitation. “ _ Please _ , Lo…”

“I’m not done,” L’lo growled, releasing Urianger’s hips to plant an open-handed slap upon his cheek, the crack ringing out across the empty room along with the elezen’s pleasured moan that followed almost instantaneously. “I am the summoner, and you are the…?” she trailed off, smirking as she watched Urianger struggle to remain still.

“I am the astrologian…” he panted, digging his nails into the edge of the table, as he rocked his hips back once more. “Lo, I implore thee…”

“Begging, Urianger? Already?” L’lo teased, a little breathless herself at the sheer wanton  _ need _ in his usually oh-so-composed voice. “I need to be certain you’ve learned your lesson first…” she hummed, reaching down to shift her member until its tip nudged against the elezen’s entrance. “What have we learned today?”

“That I must needs…  _ ah _ , save swiftcast for mine Ascend casts…” Urianger gasped, pushing back with renewed fervor against L’lo’s firm hands on his hips. “...or keep our companions better healed, so…  _ hngh, _ so that I need not use Ascend at all… a-and thou need not use thine ether to cast Resurrection, Lo, prithee,  _ fuck me! _ ”

Well. He  _ had  _ asked very nicely. L’lo bared her teeth in a feral grin, and grasped the table to use it for leverage as she jerked her hips forward, bottoming out in just one thrust, and drawing the sweetest keening sound she had ever heard from Urianger’s throat. She chuckled breathlessly as the elezen laid his face flat on the table, legs going limp beneath him, and worked herself back out, slowly, before slamming back in, starting a brutal pace, certain her lover would have the design carved on the rim of the table bruised into his hips on the morrow. 

“Good boy,” the miqo’te purred, happy to release her frustration of their last perilous outing in a way that left her partner so very pleased - and so very clearly marked as hers - afterwards.

**Author's Note:**

> :sweats: blame the book club. And that asshole in my raid this morning, who prompted me to write ANGY smut I guess...


End file.
